


Never Fade

by NowThatsDedication



Series: Two Sides of a Soul [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Grief, Loss of family members, Uncle and nephew relationship, kind of a happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:51:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowThatsDedication/pseuds/NowThatsDedication
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hardest fight does not involve weapons or war - it is accepting what cannot be changed and learning what is lost is never truly gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Fade

**Author's Note:**

> *Nu - (Supposedly) Khuzdul for "two" or "second." A nickname.

"Uncle Kíli, what are you doing? It's gonna fall!"

Kíli is deep in concentration, tongue poking out of his pursed lips. His young nephew watches, wide eyed and eager, as they build a castle of wooden blocks.

The child's sleeves are too long for his arms and they swing perilously below his fingers. Aware of the hazard to their unsteady creation, he pushes them up repeatedly - no longer believing the "you'll grow into them" he often hears. When he is not adjusting his ill-fitting garments, he's brushing tangles of golden hair from his face.

"Pffft, no it won't. I know what I'm doing. How else would you make a tower?" Kíli steadies his hand, precariously balancing another block on the edge. It teeters and wobbles ever so slightly, and the child holds his breath in anticipation. It will collapse eventually, it has to.

"The key is to focus, Nu. That's how you keep going and you reach...the...top." Kíli positions the last piece in triumph. "There!"

"How'd you know how to do that?" He was certain it would have toppled. Even now, in its shaky splendor, it is at risk.

"I know everything," Kíli winks. He rarely looks his nephew in the eye, he looks past him. But the child never notices; he is grateful to spend time with his uncle, who is very important and often very busy. Today, however, a thought weighs heavy on his mind.

"What happens when someone dies?"

Kíli’s smile drops faster than the block that slips from his hand. His voice lowers.

“How would I know that? I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"It's like sleeping?"

"Maybe."

"Where do they go when they die?”

_Focus_

"I don't know. Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Because you know everything."

Silence enters the room. The mood has changed, the air is heavier. But the inquisitive child does not pick up on it. He is on a quest, of sorts, determined to continue.

"Was my father brave?"

Kíli reels back from the blow of an invisible arrow, one that embeds itself deeps. He stiffens and clears his throat, regains as much composure as he can. _He's very young, he doesn't know any better._

Kíli does not speak of his brother. Not even to his own mother or uncle. He suspects his nephew was warned about this unspoken rule. But not answering will allude to cowardice, which is inconceivable. His brother was not a coward.

"Very brave. Why, did someone tell you otherwise?" He chokes on his words and clenches his fists.

"No. No one tells me anything."

It is natural to be curious, Kíli reminds himself. He used to ask about his own father. His brother would answer, because he was old enough to remember...

_What'd he look like?_

_Your kind of eyes, and your smile!_

Kíli shakes his head to forget.

"Was he a good fighter?"

He is relying on Kíli for scraps he can piece together to make his father whole. He stares with pleading eyes, hungry for information.  
Clear blue eyes. So alike, they are uncanny. It is like looking into the past.

"Yes. Yes he was,” Kíli shifts uncomfortably. "We don't talk about this, remember? It's not -”

"But Uncle Kíli, I don't remember him,” he sighs.

"Because you never met him."

"Why not?"

"You weren't born when..." Kíli trails off and leaves the thought hanging.

“How come?" He scrunches his face in confusion.

"You should ask someone else about this."

"I did. I asked my mother and it made her very sad. Why did he leave?"

_If you answer a few questions, then he'll be satisfied and stop. Focus._

“He...we...had something important to do. I know you learned about that.”

"Why didn't he want to stay and wait for me?"

"He didn’t know about you yet." Or ever, but that fact is always too painful to dwell on. Kíli grinds his teeth and prays for the questions to end.

"Then why did he leave my mother?"

“He didn't...didn't want to leave anybody.” His armor weakens, his chest tightens. “It was only supposed to be for a little while.”

A sudden flash of memory haunts him. He used to ask his brother all the time...

_What's it like to be in love?_

There was never a straight answer, just braids swinging across that stupid grin.

_You'll know when you know._

It is like a ray of sun breaking through the clouds. But letting the light in is bad; it’s painful. He chases it away, a skill he has perfected over the years.

"Can we talk about something else? Please?"

The relationship is complicated. Kíli loves his nephew, yet fears him. Looks forward to and dreads his company. Wants to teach him everything, wants to hide him away and keep him safe. He would die for him, wishes he was never born. The child makes him smile, makes him want to cry. For him, Kíli will play the part of his old self, or a lesser version of it; the one with no spark behind the eyes.

The child momentarily ends his inquiry, but there's nothing else he wants to talk about.

Kíli notices - he’s doing it again. Wringing his little hands, smoothing them on his lap, tugging on the too-long sleeves, and then repeating the ritual. Just like...how could he inherit the fidgeting? No one else did that. _He_ used to. When he was nervous. It was the only outward appearance of his uncertainty, but Kíli always knew.

The movements make him uneasy. Kíli lowers the child’s hands, not only to soothe him but to stop the reminders.

"What’s wrong, Nu?”

"If he was brave and a good fighter, then why did he-"

"Enough!" Kíli’s fist pounds the table. The tower topples down, blocks cascading onto the floor. The child recoils in fear at the new and frightening tone, the raw anger of it.

“I just wanted to know. I'm sorry,” he whispers to the ground. Now he'll never hear about his father again, and regretful tears slide down his cheeks. He has never been scolded this harshly before, he gives no reason for it. All he wants is to make his family happy, but he is beginning to understand his mere presence causes them grief.

Mortified by his actions, Kíli hurries to make amends. _Pathetic_.

"No, no, you did nothing wrong. You're a good lad. I'm sorry. I'm a terrible broth-uncle, I don't know everything.”

He falls to his knees and extends his arms out, and his nephew accepts, stepping into a remorseful embrace and burying his damp face into Kíli’s chest.

"I'm not mad at you, never at you. I’m mad at myself. Because I'm not brave. Forgive me. You can ask me anything. Anything.” _You don't deserve this._ _I'm supposed to protect you and I've failed._

“I want to see him.”

“Oh Nu, you can't...you can't see him. You know what it means to be-”

“I want to see his tomb.”

Children shouldn't know what tombs are, or want to see them. But Kíli understands and lifts his nephew’s chin and stares into those bright blue eyes he has avoided for so long.

“Alright. We'll go. Now.” Before he makes an excuse. Before he breaks another promise.

His voice returns, and Kíli is not quick enough to dissolve it...

_Just because it's hard doesn't mean you should give up!_

_I'm not giving up! I'm only-_

_Avoiding what's hard, hmm? Now pick up the sword and try again. Keep going! Focus!_

He always made everything look easy.

*****

Kili’s steps, and his nephew’s shuffling feet, echo against stone. They walk, deep into the mountain, where no light can reach. They follow the torches that illuminate the paths and narrow stairways. It is a long way down.

The child trips over his own boots, helpless, as he struggles to keep up with Kíli’s long strides.

“Do you need help?”

“Mmhmm,” he nods, slightly embarrassed.

Kíli lifts him up and perches him atop his shoulders. “Better?”

“I’m very tall now!”

Kíli stands on his toes, “How about now?”

He used to climb on his brother’s shoulders. It is one of his earliest memories. He wasn't much higher off the ground, but he thought he could touch the sky. _Almost there!_ He would try to lift Kíli up higher, even though he was heavy and kept kicking him in the ears, until they both fell over, laughing. Then he would get up and do it again, because it was Kíli’s favorite game and-

Kíli fights it, holds it back. _Don’t think about him. He left you. Focus._

They continue on, every step closer becoming more difficult. But how would it look if he turned back now?

"Uncle Kíli, what's a bastard?”

Kíli pauses, surprised. "It's, uh, not a nice word to use. Why do you ask?"

"Mr. Dain is visiting and he called me a little bastard and said I can't be a...a _hair_ and Uncle Thorin yelled at him."

Kíli mutters a string of words under his breath, words his nephew never heard before. This was settled years ago. Why does he keep bringing it up, as if it was any concern of his? Kíli gave up his title voluntarily. It was not a hard choice, he was never supposed to be a king.

"Don't worry yourself about it."

“Am I a bastard?”

“No.”

“Am I a...a...the other thing?”

“Yes.” _I made sure of that._

“What does that mean?”

“You'll learn when you're older.” He wouldn't understand now. His arrival to the mountain was surprising, even scandalous to some. His birthright was obvious, no one could deny who he belonged to. Yet his claim to it was mired in complicated laws. It was not official, they claimed. But Kíli fought it. He has a fierce temper now, with no one to reel it in.

“Then why does he say things that aren't true?”

“He's...well, he's...the backside of a donkey."

The child giggles, tossing back his blond head in amusement.

"But you didn't hear that from me, don't repeat it.”

Kíli doesn't want to be responsible for teaching his nephew crude language. How would his brother feel about that? About even having a son? He'd feel nothing. Because he's not here.

They travel deeper. It is darker, colder, lonelier. It may as well be the bottom of the earth. The end of it all.

"Are we lost?"

"No! I know where we're going. It's just a little dark. It's hard to see, you know?" Kíli answers, more to reassure himself than his nephew.

His breath quickens. Kíli was afraid of the dark when he was young. He would lie in his bed, terrified, until he heard the whisper from across the room...

_The dark can't hurt you, Kíli!_

_What's IN the dark can!_

_There's nothing in here, I promise._ _I'll protect you_ _._

"There's nothing in here."

"What, uncle?"

"Nevermind."

 _Focus_.

“How come I've never been down here before?”

“You’re too little.”

He knows where it is located but has never been there, either. Kíli was absent for the funeral. And all subsequent memorial commemorations, tradition be damned. Why be constantly reminded of what's no longer there?

 _I lost my brother, I understand,_ his uncle offered consolation from the guilt and pain. Lost! As if he was wandering in a forest, looking for the right path home. Where is he, then? You can find what's lost. Kíli can't find his brother. _No, you don't understand. No one does._

“Is this it?” Asks a solemn voice from above Kíli’s ear.

“Yes. We’re here.” A shiver runs through his body. A solitary tomb lies before them. _Are you afraid?_

It is too ornate; he would have hated it. Kíli lifts his nephew from his shoulders onto the surface of the stone. His eye catches the engraving on the top. It's the first time he's seen his face since…

The child notices it and smiles, "That's him!"

Kíli steps back and hopes the mountain will swallow him up. It is too much. Too much pain.

Finally discovering his father, the child traces his fingers along the inscription, sleeves brushing across the stone.

Words can't tell the story of his life, symbols can't do it justice. Only Kíli knows.

“He has my name!”

“You have _his_ name,” Kíli corrects.

“Pr...pri…”

“Prince.”

“What's this one?” He taps on the runes. Kíli can read it from a distance. It sticks out and taunts him. _Are you afraid?_

“Sacrifice.”

“What does it mean?”

“When you give up something for someone else.”

“What did he give up?”

_His life. For mine._

Kíli turns away, unable to hold it in. He had buried it deeper than any tomb, but now it rises to the surface, crashes down over him. The same sensation he felt that day, most days after. Raw. Unending. _Afraid_.

He moves out of sight, behind a wall, and sinks to the ground with his face in his hands. It is much easier to run away. He would never have run before, would never think of it. Was it because his one source of strength was gone?

It isn't fair. His brother left behind love and life for the sake of his pathetic self. And how did he honor him? By forgetting him.

_Fíli, why? It should have been me, I'm not as strong as you. I can't do this. Why?_

His name, long forbidden and suppressed, now flows out of him. _Fíli. Fíli._ He pleads and calls out, useless as it may be.

Shaking, silent sobs overtake him as his old enemy returns. He surrenders now, after fighting so long in vain, lays down his arms and accepts defeat. Allows it to sweep him up in its shadows, devour him, until the world around him vanishes.

And it is a cruel opponent; there is no mercy as it floods his mind with memory and squeezes air from his lungs and crushes his chest. It lasts for an eternity, centuries passing by in seconds, millennia in minutes.

When the darkness finally dissipates, he is empty, drained. It fed on him until nothing was left. Except the rays shining through. A forgotten voice. A lost conversation, their last.

_You're awfully quiet. Are you afraid?_

_No._

_Don't lie._

_What's it matter if I am? So you can say you're not?_

_I am. You have to admit your weaknesses-_

_If I don't, then I have no weaknesses!_

_Not true. If you hide them, they will grow. So I admit I’m afraid. And it has no power over me._

_What are you afraid of? Dying?_

_Not as much as...can you promise me, whatever happens, that you'll keep living?_

_If what happens? What do you mean?_

_Just promise you won't...change._

_You make no sense sometimes._

_I know. Let's go._

Kíli finally understands. Fíli didn't want him to die, he knew that, of course. But he warned Kíli not to die alongside of him, to be alive only in body.

He let them both down. That was Fíli’s son, living a life amongst secrets and hushed whispers and silent sadness. Did he not deserve an uncle who was able to stare him in the eye, to speak his father's name? One who didn't wish himself dead every day? Kíli gasps deep breaths, the first he's taken in years. There is someone to live for.

He notices a soft voice from behind the wall and rushes toward it.

"...and I can read a little bit. My mother takes care of me and she sings to me, I like that. Uncle Kíli and I have a lot of fun but I make him sad sometimes. I don't mean to. I like playing outside but I'm not always allowed to...I'm going to learn how to ride a pony soon..."

"Who's there? Who are you talking to?"

Fíli points to the engraving of his father.

"Oh...oh."

"Are you better now, uncle?"

"I'm fine. All is well."

He presses his forehead against his nephew’s. _I wish I realized sooner, just how important you are. To me. To him._

"Don't you talk to him?"

"No. I should."

Kíli places a trembling hand on the stone. It's not cold, as he expected.

"What will you say?"

He could say it now. To both of them.

"I miss him."

Fíli rests his hand over his uncle's. "Me too...even though I didn’t know him. Is there a way can we miss him less?

“By memories. We can never forget if we remember.”

“But I have none.”

“Then I will give you mine. We can share. So it will be like you knew him too.”

He doesn’t understand how precious this gift is, not yet. He only knows it will bring him closer to his father. And his uncle.

“Can you teach me how to do everything he did? I want to be like him. And you!”

Kíli ruffles his golden hair and receives a reaction he would have expected from his brother; dimples and eyes gleaming with promise.

"You can come down here whenever you want. To talk to him. Or anywhere, really. Anywhere.”

"Will he hear me?"

"Yes, he will."

Kíli wipes his face. It’s a start. A new beginning. It had not been an end, though it had felt like it. One cannot truly die if they are loved.

“Come, little Fíli. Before I tell you our stories, you have to promise me...promise that you'll never attempt any of the mischief that we got ourselves into. No matter how much fun it sounds.”

Fíli laughs and nods his head, braids flying.

“Good.” He lifts him up on his shoulders again.

“Where to start? There's plenty of good ones...uh...the time we almost burned down the...nah….”

Memories stream out, the light breaks through the fog. Fíli is with him again. They are shoulder to shoulder. Ready to take on the world.

“Ah, let me tell you what happened with the ponies.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I feel about this, but I'm glad it's finally finished. It was a real pain in the ass to write! Spent way too much time on it. 
> 
> I hope referring to little Fili as "the child" or "the nephew" didn't get annoying, but I didn't want to use his name until Kili came to terms with using it.


End file.
